


Mulberry Wine

by lemondropsssss



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beltane, Dorks in Love, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemondropsssss/pseuds/lemondropsssss
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are welcomed to celebrate Beltayne with the locals. It goes uncharacteristically well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166





	Mulberry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> first fic since i was a wee fandom toddler. i tried to do smut and oh boy it did not work, so ya'll get some cut off fluff, you're welcome. i thought of expanding this to a "our mrs renolds" type thing with the wine and the wreaths and oh look now you're married! so that's a possibility if ya'll like this. pls like this

Geralt only agreed to this because it was Beltayne. 

Well. Beltayne, and the way Jaskier looked at him when he’d asked if they could stay. 

The headwoman had invited them both to celebrate with the village, as thanks for clearing the nekkers that had begun to nest in the low valley before the mountain. When Geralt had reminded the old woman that Witchers worked for coin and no other, she had laughed at him. 

“You’ll get your coin, wolf cub, settle yourself. There’ll be no one saying Old Maja doesn’t pay her debts.” She tossed him a bag of coins, mouth quirking into a smile when he caught it one handed. “You’re still invited to stay, the both of you. Bad luck to turn someone away on Beltayne.”

And Jaskier had turned to him, with that damn smile of his that always got him what he wanted, the damn bastard. How did his eyes do that? Shine like that, like the clearest blue Geralt had ever seen. And that smile that soothed over all his rough edges, pulling him into Jaskier’s orbit without ever thinking twice about it. 

“Come now, Geralt, it would be rude to refuse our gracious hosts,” Jaskier shot a wink at the headwoman and Geralt’s frown deepened. Damn him. “And it’s Beltayne, which means it’s bad luck to refuse anyway.” Double damn him. Geralt was not going to cave to this. “Please, Geralt?” Gods damn all bards and their stupid beautiful smiles. 

“One night. But we leave at first light, and if you whine about it I’m leaving you here.” 

“Yes, yes, you’re a big mean Witcher and I’m very, very intimidated. Now,” Jaskier clapped his hands together, turning back towards he celebrations, “I think it’s more than past time for some music.” 

Geralt watched him march off, lute in hand, and be met with the cheers and demands of the villagers. Leaving Jaskier to his song requests, Geralt went in search of alcohol. Yes, alcohol would work; would purge that damn smile from his mind. 

“Ale,” He grunted at the man behind the table set up as a bar. 

“No ale, Witcher Sir, just the mulberry wine we make. Does the job just as well, though.” 

Geralt frowned at that but accepted the flagon and cups handed to him. Wine in hand he found a spot just out of reach of the dancing villagers. Close enough to be seen if anyone went looking; he knew from experience that while no one wanted to see a Witcher, having one out of sight was even worse. It was quiet here, his back tucked against a big tree, cast in the shadows of the bonfire. 

The wine sat heavy on his tongue, almost too sweet but still very good. A luxury anywhere else, but here, on Beltayne, it was alright. Out of habit his eyes found Jaskier at the center of the townsfolk, lute in hand, leading them in an old folk song. The tune was familiar to Geralt, if not the words. Jaskier was in his element surrounded by the adoring crowd, moving around the circle, touching a shoulder or hand, winking at the pretty maids and the pretty farm boys. 

Jaskier finished his song, the flush of a job well done high on his cheeks. Geralt watched as three young girls raced up to him, something in their hands. They presented it to him, and Jaskier’s face split open into a wide smile. He thanked the girls and made his way back to Geralt, snagging a jug of wine on his way. 

“I brought a peace offering,” He said as he sank to his knees in front of Geralt. “Close your eyes.” 

Geralt’s brow furrowed, and he looked over the bard, trying to scent out what he had hidden behind his back. 

“No.”

“It’s Beltayne, you have to play along!” Jaskier pouted, and Geralt closed his eyes only because he couldn’t see those pink lips in a pout without imagining how they’d look around his cock. And Gods, wouldn’t he look good with Geralt’s cock in his mouth. 

“You can’t just say ‘it’s Beltayne’ and expect me to do whatever you ask,” He grumbled, stiffing slightly when he felt Jaskier lean into his space, a warm hand steady on his thigh. “Jask-“ 

“Well obviously I can, Witcher. Which is quite a power, I should say, heady stuff,” Jaskier’s voice came in warm puffs of air across his cheek, and something was placed on his head. “Okay, you can open them.” 

Jaskier hadn’t leaned back, still pressed close across Geralt’s lap, hand still curled around his upper thigh. Geralt’s hand came up, fingering the crown of flowers on his head. “A flower crown is your peace offering?” He asked, instead of addressing the perfectly accurate statement that Geralt would, in fact, do anything Jaskier asked of him. 

“No, the alcohol is the peace offering, the flowers are so we match!” Jaskier reached up to finger his own wreath; a ring of daises and buttercups intertwined around a ring of mountain laurel.

“Pass the peace offering, then,” He sighed, having long since finished his own flagon of wine. Jaskier reached behind him for the wine, wobbling on his knees and almost toppling sidewise and spilling the jug over the two of them before Geralt wrapped a firm arm around his waist. “Can’t take you anywhere,” He growled, pulling the jug from Jaskier’s hands. 

“That’s hardly fair, Ger-! Geralt!” Jaskier pushed at Geralt’s hands as the Witcher manhandled him between his legs, settling Jaskier with his back against Geralt’s chest. “What are you doing?” He asked in a quiet voice, tipping his head back to look up at the older man. 

“It’s Beltayne,” Geralt grunted, as if that flimsy excuse would really explain what he was doing. His breath puffed out against Jaskier’s ear, and he felt the younger man shiver in his arms. 

“Yes, I know that, I was the one who told you that, but that really doesn’t explain why you’re- you’re- holding me like this.” For his protest, the bard does nothing to move away from Geralt.

Geralt just grunts, tightening his arms around Jaskier’s waist until the smaller man calms. It only takes a second before he sighs and relaxes into Geralt’s chest, slotting against him like he was made to fit there. “Fine, but I reserve the right to question you relentlessly tomorrow.”

“Yes, bard,” He murmured into Jaskier’s neck, taking the moment to breathe him in. Sandalwood, and wine, and sweat, and that dumb orange hand cream in the tiny tin at the bottom of his pack that he saves for special occasions. He brushes his lips under his ear, earning himself a soft grunt from the man. 

“It’s Beltayne,” Jaskier murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes.” 

“You’ll do anything I ask of you.” It’s not a question. 

“Yes.” 

“And you won’t be angry tomorrow.” 

“Yes, bard.” 

“Geralt?” 

“Hm.”

“Kiss me.” 

And so Geralt does as he’s told, tipping Jaskier’s head with a gentle hand at the back of his neck. The first touch of lips is gentle, a soft caress before Geralt pulls back. Jaskier’s eyes are closed, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

“Again.” 

“Yes, bard.”


End file.
